Winner at a Losing Game
by Brenth204
Summary: His eyes are sparkling with tears of joy. The kind of joy you never were capable of giving him. It pains you to know you aren't the other half to his whole, but really, you've known that from the start. -B&B, Oneshot-


**A/N: Hi there! This is a oneshot idea that came to me at three o'clock in the morning, while I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I was listening to a great song by _Rascal Flatts, _called "Winner at a Losing Game". I recommend you listen to it. Sang from Hannah's POV, it's _perfect_. I wrote it out as a way to get rid of my insomnia, but I ended up growing rather fond of it and it developed into this. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is also partially an experiment- it's my first time writing in second person POV. Let me know how I did!  
**

**Yes, this is from Hannah's POV, which should become evident rather quickly. But I'm a hardcore B&B shipper, and I make Hannah endure a lot of angst, so don't worry. :)  
**

**

* * *

**

Winner at a Losing Game

i.

Somewhere, deep down, you always knew.

It was evident in his eyes- in the way he touched you, held you, kissed you. Like his thoughts were elsewhere. He was focused on something else. _Someone_ else. You initially brushed it off, thinking perhaps he was just really shy, or you were imagining it.

Though, it was pretty hard to ignore the picture of his partner he carried around in his pocket. You couldn't miss the way his eyes twinkled as he spoke of their escapades together. You also couldn't miss the way his face fell when you asked if she had ever been more than a friend, once upon a time.

But he's so _genuine_! It's so easy to believe this man- who's everything you've ever dreamed of. Intelligent, caring, brave, strong… not to mention handsome. You don't care that he's broken, somewhere deep inside. You love him anyways, and think maybe with every kiss, every confession of your love, you might be able to mend him together piece by shattered piece.

For a while, there, he seemed to be a bit better. He was a bit more playful, a bit less distant. You smiled and _nearly_ gave yourself a pat on the back for a job well done.

Then came the call.

ii.

He tells you about it in an offhand manner, as he throws his things together in a desperate attempt to pack faster. Apparently his old friend is in danger of losing her job. Not only that, but he is suddenly desperate to be with his son. You tell him you understand, but that nagging voice in your head whispers venomous thoughts that sour your mood.

You brush them off as frivolous, and try not to think about the picture he carries around in his pocket.

But you have a right to be worried, don't you? He didn't even hesitate to go back to D.C. A small, selfish part of you wishes he had shown some reluctance to leave you alone in a war zone- isn't this the part where the boy decides to stay with the girl, to keep her safe?

But your life has never been one of those cheap romance novels. You aren't the jealous type, at least not on the outside.

So you tack on that signature fake smile, kiss him goodbye, and thank your lucky stars that, at the very _least_, you know he'll be safe.

iii.

Not long after, you're stepping out of a cab and breathing in that _amazing_ American air. It feels good to be back in a place where you aren't constantly on edge- the tension tangible in the hot air, as you dodge bullets and bombs and the like. Yeah, you could get used to this.

You pay the cab driver, and immediately see him through the diner window. Your heart skips a beat.

He isn't alone.

In the time it takes you to start across the street, your eyes trained on him, he spots you. You relish the look of disbelief as he rises from his table, and you smile before picking up the pace. He meets you at the door, smile wider than you've seen it in a long time.

This alone is enough to give you hope._ This_, you remind yourself, is why he's worth it.

The two of you share a brief, yet passionate kiss.

And then, you get a good look at _her_.

iv.

God, he wasn't kidding when he told you the picture didn't do her justice. She is _gorgeous_, and she doesn't even seem to notice it. Her kind smile, her melancholy eyes… it makes it all the more difficult to hate her.

Her voice is gentle, yet she's blunt. Much to your chagrin, you like her instantly.

Determined to regain control of the situation, you decide to befriend her.

After all, as the saying goes- keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

v.

When you get back to your hotel room, you look yourself over in the mirror and fight back tears. She's a damn _goddess_- and you can't help but feel a little self-conscious about it.

Really, you shouldn't feel like this. Sure, they may have inside jokes. He may know her down to every last detail- her favorite type of flowers, her hatred of cooked fruit, the way she takes it to heart when someone is murdered, even if she doesn't show it. Yeah, he's told you a lot about her- whether it was over dinner, while you made him breakfast, when you were cuddling on the couch. You had been accustomed to him randomly blurting out random facts about _her_...

Shaking your head to clear it of these thoughts, you try to stay positive.

You sit on the bed and remind yourself over and over again, that _you're_ the one he's with. You're the one he comes home to, kisses passionately, and makes love to.

_But she's the one who can make his eyes shine like the stars._

vi.

You stare at her in disbelief. She just saved your life.

At first, you don't know _how_ to react. She's supposed to be the bad guy, here. The one you constantly have to be wary of. But this woman, this _remarkable_ woman, pointed out something even your doctors missed.

But he's here. _That_ must be why she's being so nice and caring.

Well, you decide, it won't be long until her true colors show. You're a reporter. You know how to bring out the worst in people.

You don't have to wait long.

Your chance arrives when she comes to visit you alone. Frustrated, confused, and looking to pick a fight- you make some snarky comment you know you'll probably regret later, and demand she give you her sunglasses.

You were expecting her to refuse. Rationalize, curse, criticize- _anything_ but what she did.

Although she looks a bit puzzled, she hands them over without a moment's hesitation. You take it in stride and act as if this is what you had planned on all along, but inside you are extremely perplexed.

Then, her true intentions _finally_ emerge. They still come as a minor shock to you.

This strong woman- with her melancholy, sapphire eyes- suddenly gives you the fiercest look you have ever encountered.

But you don't flinch. Instead, you return the intense gaze with a glint in your eye- daring her to say the wrong thing.

With an unmatched tenacity and the slightest tremor in her voice, she gives you a warning. She says it in a nice enough manner, but you get the _real_ message through the undertones and the wild look in her eyes.

_Hurt him, and you'll have **hell** to pay._

vii.

You know something's not right the moment he walks through the door. He's soaking wet, breathing hard, and he has a wild look in his eye.

You forget you're pissed off because he's late, and ignore the cold food sitting on the table. Concerned, you ask him what's wrong.

He ignores you entirely, and flops down on the couch without even pausing to remove his shoes. Exasperated, you sidle up next to him and ask once more. He shakes his head a little, and lets out a ragged sigh. He doesn't disclose much information, but he pats your hand and tells you not to worry.

He murmurs something about settling for a consolation prize, and then drags his hand through his hair as he gets up and goes to take a shower. It takes every bit of your restraint not to demand answers from him. Instead, you clean up the untouched dinner and go to bed.

_You ignore that nasty little feeling in the pit of your stomach._

That night, you lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with tears in your eyes.

He's always mumbled her name when he was half asleep and making love to you. At first, you hadn't known what he meant by 'Bones'. But you figured it out eventually, when you heard the pet name for the first time.

But tonight, as he whimpers her name, it's obvious it's her he's dreaming of, not you. And suddenly, you realize why you've never been able to fix him up properly. _She_ is the only glue that can hold him together.

Suddenly infuriated that you've wasted your time on a man who could never love you the way he loves her, you throw back the covers, and decide to sleep on the couch.

You'll confront him about it in the morning.

viii.

He looks rather surprised as you greet him with a cup of coffee and a wry smile in the morning.

He apologizes for the way he acted last night, and tells you that he's just been worried about her. Something about over identifying with a victim… you really don't care to continue listening. His apology confirms your suspicion- only _she_ could make him appear as haggard as he was last night.

Unable to keep up the false pretense, you blurt out the question that's haunted you since you first laid eyes on her- you ask him if he loves her.

The way he hesitates and glances at the floor is enough of an answer for you. There should be no question about it. No hesitation. You either are, or you _aren't_.

You tell him this, and he looks up at you with a wounded expression, pleading eyes, and a trembling mouth. He says of course I love you. He has the audacity to place his hand on your arm, and you flinch backward and look at him sadly.

With a choking sob, you ask him if he realizes that he calls out for her at night.

You might as well have struck him across the face.

At first he is stunned, but then he rushes over to you and wraps you up in his arms. He tells you he's sorry. He never meant for any of this to happen. He _does_ love you, but… He can't finish his sentence. But you don't need him to. It's pretty obvious, and you don't need him to spell it out for you.

You wipe your tears indignantly, grab your messenger bag, and you're out the door. You can't be late for work, after all.

ix.

It takes you less than an hour to pack up your bags. You've always been nomadic- and somewhere deep down, you knew this would never be permanent. You hadn't even bothered to unpack all the way.

He watches you with sad brown eyes, but he doesn't shed a tear. _She's_ the only one he loves enough to cry over, you think bitterly.

When you're finished packing, you approach him and brush your hair out of your face.

You wish him luck in life, a little more curtly than you would have liked, but you're only human.

Intentional or not, he _used_ you. And you've got to maintain what scrap of dignity you have left.

He stops you, and grabs both of your hands. For the first time since you've been with him, he looks you square in the eye with the type of respect you deserve. And he tells you that he never, _ever_ intended to hurt you.

You nod in understanding, as a single tear rolls down your face, and you lean in to give him a quick, tender peck on the cheek. You've heard that so many times before- from more men than you care to remember.

But for the first time in your life, you actually believe it.

x.

Three years have passed, and you're back in D.C for the first time. You don't really _want_ to be here, but you're drawn here by emotions, thoughts, and feelings you can't really explain.

The reception hall is decorated modestly- with daffodils and light blue balloons.

A melancholy smile brushes your lips. You had always wanted a spring wedding.

You make your way through the crowd, no one noticing you. It's been long enough that you're a complete stranger to everyone in attendance- shrouded in a cloak of time that has passed by mercilessly. You don't mind. In fact, you're grateful no one knows who you are. They might have found it odd you were here.

Hell, even _you_ wonder if you're off your rocker for coming.

When you reach the edge of the crowd, the dance floor comes into view, and a slow song envelopes you with its gentle melody. Tears prick your eyes as the lights dim, and they walk out together, smiling graciously at their guests.

She looks absolutely stunning in that flowing white dress that hugs her every curve- with her sapphire eyes sparkling and her chocolate hair curled to perfection. But your eyes don't linger on her for long.

He is simply _dashing_ in that crisp black tuxedo- his chiseled body wonderfully defined beneath the fabric. He closes his eyes, a genuine smile on his face, as he lays his head on hers and twirls her in a slow, gentle circle.

The corners of her mouth curl up as she laughs softly, and he pulls her in tight once more as he leans down and plants a tender, loving kiss on the top of her head. His eyes are sparkling with tears of joy.

The kind of joy you never were capable of giving him.

It pains you to know you aren't the other half to his whole, but really, you've known that from the start. Sometimes, two hearts just can't dance to the same beat.

You blink slowly, and when you open your eyes _she_ has locked her gaze with yours. A brief feeling of panic floods over you- you shouldn't be here. You begin to turn away and run through the crowd, but something about her intense gaze keeps you frozen in time.

She smiles sadly at you- an acknowledgment to your poor heart that is broken almost beyond repair- and mouths the words 'Thank you'.

Your heart breaks as you nod in understanding, and then turn away from the man you loved and the woman who had always been better than you. Without glancing back, you exit the reception hall and walk to cab that is waiting for you.

The cab driver, seeing your forlorn expression, asks you if you're all right. Without hesitation, you nod and force a smile. And you aren't lying. Although sad that you weren't the one he needed, you were grateful at least that he found his happiness- even if you couldn't provide it for him. In the end, that was all that mattered to you.

And, deep down, you knew someday you'd get _your_ happily ever after.


End file.
